He looked down and grinned. “Nitric acid,” he said. “I was showing Willie something.”
“But—our guests!”
He looked at her and he looked at the room, packed with the dregs from all the rooms. “Mother, I’m not sure—and don’t look now—but I strongly believe that these people—don’t exist!”
Mrs. Bailey repeated the phrase to her husband while she was dressing for dinner.
“‘Don’t exist’! What does he mean by that? He must have gone mad!”
“He certainly is acting like a conceited, self-important ass!”
Jimmie, in a rather worn dinner jacket, leaned through the door of his mother’s boudoir. “If I throw a handful of salt in a pitcher of fresh water,” he said, causing both his parents to turn with a start, “the water at the bottom of the pitcher may go on thinking it’s fresh for several seconds. But it won’t be. The water at the bottom will also become salty very soon. That’s what I mean by saying that those guests of yours—don’t exist.” He waved his hand at them.
His mother said, “Good heavens!”
CHAPTER II
UNSEASONABLE weather has a stimulating effect on people. The cold spell, which had frozen the river and covered the rolling lands with snow, also caused the Bailey guests to arrive at the country club with extra zest. Their eyes sparkled; they lustily beat casual flakes from their furs and coats; they talked in loud voices. With a sense of distant indignation, Jimmie went through the ritual of arrival, of introductions, of a drink at the bar, and of sitting down at the table in a private dining room with his family and some twenty of their friends. He remembered a few of them. In time, his mother had said.